"Well, you know now."
Suddenly he was on his knees in front of her, gazing up at her with pleading eyes. "Please forgive me. I'm begging you on bended knee, please! I love you, Flora. I want you desperately. If you don't forgive me I'll never get over it. I'll..." His voice broke. With a cry of despair he buried his head in her lap. "I need you, my darling. I am lost without you," came his muffled cry.
Flora gazed down at the noble head, now so humbled, with its golden curls in disarray. He had treated her so shabbily, and yet... "I was terribly hurt by what you did."
He gazed up at her again. "I know, and I'm humbly sorry. Won't you give me the chance to prove I would never, ever, treat you in such a shameful fashion again?" He shook his head in desperation. "Oh, I know you're in mourning. It's much too soon even to think of marriage, but at the proper time I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life adoring you—and only you. I swear, I shall never look at another woman again."
Flora gazed into Richard's desperate face. An errant curl had fallen over his forehead. She felt a keen urge to reach for it, brush it away. At first, she resisted, knowing if she did, she'd be lost forever to this feckless man who had existed as a hero only in her fantasies. But he was real. And he was sorry—had even humbled himself, gotten on his knees. And he loved her. Her hand stole out. She was helpless to stop it. Her fingers touched the golden curl and shoved it back. "Oh, Richard," she murmured, "I hardly know what to say."
"You needn't say a word." He arose and sat beside her, took her hand, looked deep into her eyes. "Just give me the chance to redeem myself, that's all I ask. You won't be sorry, I promise."
She tried to remind herself of all the bad things, but how could she under his searing, heart-wrenching gaze? He was so sincere, so truly regretful. He's been misunderstood cried the little voice. Lord Lynd was wrong. He did not understand Richard the way she did. Even her mother perceived his nobleness, his honesty, despite—what did she call them?—ah, yes, his little peccadillos. And that's all they were. Nothing serious. No man was perfect.
He drew closer. "Is there any hope for me? If there is not, I promise you I shall leave immediately—never bother you again. But if somehow you could forgive me...?"
"I forgive you, Lord Dinsmore." Lovingly she laid her palm upon the dear cheek that was pale because of her. How could she have doubted him? "You know I care for you."
Uttering a cry of joy, he brought her hand to his lips and covered it with kisses. "You won't be sorry."
"We must wait."
"Yes, yes," he replied impatiently. "The proscribed amount of time, whatever suits you." He drew her close. "Then we'll marry and you'll be mine, my darling, all mine."
Dreams do come true, she thought as she melted into the arms of the man she adored.
* * * *
Within the hour after Richard proposed, he left in high spirits for London, exceedingly pleased his little plot had worked even better than expected. Begging on bended knee was not to his taste but a clever ploy nonetheless, even though...he glanced down...no, by God, not the slightest stain marred his black breeches. How he detested wearing mourning. Ah, how he yearned for his tight yellow pantaloons. But what luck Flora had capitulated
. No, not luck. He should give himself more credit. What brilliance. He must share his triumph with his old friend, Lord Lynd. As his curricle rolled to a stop at the front portico of Vernon Hill, he experienced a brief moment of uncertainty, recalling how Sidney had stormed off in high dudgeon when last they met
. But I'm the one who should be angry
. Richard vividly recalled his and Sidney's visit to the offices of Sir Charles Quigley when he discovered all his land had been entailed. All Sidney's fault, but no matter. Richard wasn't one to hold a grudge. Neither was Sidney.
He was right. His childhood friend seemed not angry in the least, although now, as they sat chatting in the study, Richard reflected his old friend's greeting had not been overly warm. "I've just come from Pemberly Manor," Richard told him. "Checking on the grieving widow."
Sidney eyed him suspiciously. "What are you up to?"
Richard innocently spread his palms. "Nothing. Except—" he tried to remain solemn, which was difficult, considering he felt like shouting his success from the rooftop "—do you remember when I said I had only to snap my fingers and our dear Lady Dinsmore would come running?"
Although Sidney remained silent, the sudden tautness of his face said it all. In fact, was it Richard's imagination or had his friend turned a bit pale? "Of course you remember," Richard jovially continued. "It's true, you know. I'm back in her good graces." In triumph, he crowed, "We talked marriage, Sidney. Nothing official, of course. We shan't become betrothed until the proper time, but just think! Pemberly Manor will be mine after all."
After a long silence, Sidney said, "Congratulations," in a rather strangled voice that sounded totally unlike him. Perhaps, Richard observed, it was due to the fact he seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth.
After that, the rest of the visit fell flat. To Richard's chagrin, his old friend became so uncommunicative as to be boring. This was no fun, so he left shortly after he arrived. As his curricle rolled toward London, he wondered why Sidney had not been his usual wry, amusing self. Perhaps he really did have feelings for Flora. But what if he did? She was only a woman, after all, and what were women for but to be used for man's pleasure and convenience?
Surely nothing more.
* * * *
For a long time after Richard's departure, Flora sat by the fireplace alone, examining her feelings, waiting to be illuminated by the glow of happiness which would surely wash over her at any moment. Richard loved her, she told herself over and over again. She should be ecstatic, but so far, euphoria had yet to strike. She thought back to that terrible day he had jilted her. How she had anguished. How she would have given anything in the world if she could regain his love. Now, miracle of miracles, Richard was hers again. She decided the impact of this marvelous turn of events simply hadn't sunk in yet. Naturally it would take time. She wasn't herself, what with the death of Charles, but given time—in fact, any moment now—her heart would sing with delight and she'd be blissfully happy.
Next day she was still waiting for bliss to strike when she began to wonder why Lord Lynd had not paid a visit at his usual time. Hardly a day passed that he didn't drop by. She had to admit she'd come to look forward eagerly to his visits, which had become a highly enjoyable part of her daily routine.
The day passed. She waited in vain. An uncomfortable thought struck her: had Lord Lynd found out that she and Richard had reconciled? Oh, surely not. He was simply busy, that was all.
The next day came and went without a word from her neighbor and good friend. By that evening she was forced to acknowledge her growing suspicion that Lord Lynd knew the truth. She could easily imagine how Richard, in the spirit of friendship, had stopped by Vernon Hill to celebrate his good news on his way back to London.
So be it then, she told herself firmly. Why was she wasting her time thinking of Lord Lynd when she should be dreaming of her coming fantastic life with Richard? Ah, how blissfully happy they would be
. He would be utterly devoted...
She lies in bed, watching fondly as Richard climbs in beside her, bends to kiss her. Fondly she regards his dark, craggy face, runs her fingers through his thick straight black hair...
He looks up...
No, no, no! How did that happen? It wasn't Richard's fair visage she was looking into, but the wise, dark eyes of Sidney, Lord Lynd. Really! Why was he in her fantasy? Why couldn't she focus on Richard?
How exasperating.
Another day came and went and no Lord Lynd. She began to feel sick with worry at the thought she might have lost his friendship. Her impulse was to hitch the curricle and drive to Vernon Hill to see him. No, a terrible idea. She'd been taught from childhood that a lady did not, under any circumstance, visit a gentleman in his abode. Such an action was considered such extremely brazen behavior that even she, liberated from society's rules as she thought she was, could not bring herself to do it.
A letter. Better yet, an invitation which good manners decreed he could not ignore.
The new Lord Dinsmore forgotten, she sat down at her black and gold lacquered writing desk and penned,
My Dear Lord Lynd,
I have missed your friendly visits these past few days and hope all is well. You are invited for tea tomorrow, Thursday, at 3 o'clock. I look forward to your visit.
Most sincerely,
Flora Dinsmore
Done and sent, Flora thought as she handed her sealed missive to the footman and directed him to deliver it without delay to Vernon Hill.
* * * *
Next day, after sending a brief and proper note of acceptance, Lord Lynd appeared promptly at three o'clock. Flora arose as Gillis announced him and he strode purposefully into the drawing room.
Flora dipped a curtsey and smiled. "I am so delighted to see you again."
Lynd did not return her smile. Instead, with a frown he said, "I have a few things to say. You won't be so delighted when I finish, I can assure you."
With growing trepidation, she asked, "What do you mean?"
"I am about to tell you why I haven't visited these past few days. Also, I want to tell you why you won't be seeing me again."
Flora's knees went weak, not only because of his words but because of the icy gleam in his eyes. "I gather something is wrong."
"What an astute observation. One question. Is it true you've allowed Dinsmore back into your good graces?"
Under his withering gaze, she hated to answer but knew she must. "Yes, but you see—"
"I don't see."
Why was he being so cold and unforgiving? In truth, he was back to his old, cynical self again only more so. She asked, "What are you trying to tell me?"
"I would not have told you anything at all, my dear Lady Dinsmore, had you not sent your ridiculous invitation to tea. We could have gone our separate ways, no one the wiser. But since you ask—" a corner of his mouth lifted with disdain as he set fists to hips "—you've given me the perfect opportunity to bring to your attention what a fool you are."
Resentment boiled within her. "That's an insult."
"I meant to insult you. How could you love such a profligate? It's beyond idiocy."
Loyalty to Richard came flooding back. "You misunderstand him. Lord Dinsmore has given me perfectly reasonable explanations for all he's done."
"I understand every move Richard makes, so save your breath. It's you who don't have an inkling as to his true character."
"I do and I love him."
"Love is blind. You've just proved it." Lynd threw the words at her like stones.
The conversation was getting out of hand. She would try a more conciliatory tone. "Won't you miss our visits?" she asked. Judging from the blaze of fury in his eyes, she knew immediately she'd said the wrong thing.
Suddenly he gripped her arms so tightly her breath escaped in a startled gasp. His curt voice lashed at her, "Yes, I'll miss our visits
. What I won't miss is having to witness a seemingly intelligent woman such as you throw her life away on a worthless rake."
This was unbearable. "Lord Lynd, I've never seen you act this way before. I had no wish to offend you. These past few weeks I've enjoyed your visits immensely. I think of you as a dear friend and I—"
"Friend?" he rasped. "I was more than a friend. I was the man who would have loved you, cherished you, taken care of you for all our lives. You, with your silly head full of your golden-haired prince." Still gripping her tightly, he put her away from him and regarded her with eyes that glowed with a savage inner fire. "He'll eventually treat you like dirt, you know, only you're too besotted to see it."
"I think it's time you left," she cried. She tried to struggle from his grasp but he held her like a vise.
"I'll leave gladly," he replied, his breath coming hard. Cynically he asked, "But don't you think I've earned a farewell kiss?"
"Get out
." She tried again to wrest herself away, but to no avail. He pulled her roughly toward him. His mouth came hard on hers, covering it hungrily, relentlessly. She pounded his shoulders with her fists, but it was like hitting a brick wall and he paid no heed. His mouth remained on hers, warm, caressing. Gradually her fists stopped their pounding as she became acutely aware of how tightly she was molded to the contours of his lean body. Would he ever stop? Did she want him to stop? All she knew was that his cruel, searching mouth demanded a response. Soon, almost of their own volition, her arms crept around his neck. Feeling a stirring deep within her, she forgot any thought of resistance and met his kiss with her own. Umm, how warm he was, how nicely she fit in his arms. She quivered at the sweet tenderness she felt and would have gone on, forever if she could, lingering, savoring every moment, but suddenly he broke from their embrace.